


The Last Warhound

by JudgeWolf



Category: Warhammer 40.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-15 02:47:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29677224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JudgeWolf/pseuds/JudgeWolf
Summary: Garro wasn’t the only one sent to warn the Imperium.Story written for a character I came up with for a pen and paper rpg
Kudos: 3





	The Last Warhound

Crixus  
The last War hound

As my senses return, I am only certain of two things. I am restrained and I am finally on a working, living ship. My last memory was of battle, stuck upon that damned amalgamation of wrecks lost in the warp where I was certain I’d spend my life fighting and running until I was eventually killed.  
I cannot see, and I cannot move. I know that I am bound spread like a specimen for examination. Cold metal binds my wrists, ankles and waist. The cold antiseptic laden air tells me my armor is gone. Something besides the near mindlessly savage orks, or the insidiously alien things I have faced for the last years must have found me once I lost consciousness, a sus-an shutdown thanks to the wounds I had sustained.  
I can hear heavy boots coming towards me. Astartes boots, as well as another. A heavy door slides open ponderously and the three stepped inside my cell. I feign unconsciousness perhaps I’ll gain some sort of information.

“Wake him.” A smaller voice says. Un-augmented, human. “There is no need. He pretends. He is awake already.” This voice carry’s all the tell-tale signs of an Astartes, as he speaks, I feel an ice-cold hand wash over my mind. I have felt the touch of a psyker before and the realization ignites a fury, not a panic but a wave of revulsion.  
“Do that again witch, and I’ll break you in half bare handed!” the smaller voice chuckles softly he moves, and I Hear a clicking sound of buttons being pressed and then searing electrical pain passes though me. As though they have wires laced through my entire body. I jerk and scream and as suddenly as the pain came, it stops.  
“Understand this, Astartes, you are in custody until we know your intentions. You will only speak when given permission. You are not asking the questions here. The truthfulness of your answers will determine what is to be done with you. Do you understand?”  
It was rare but not unheard of, a space marine being captured. Some of the extensive hypno-suggestive learning we receive in training handles it. As such I remain silent. I hear a click before the electrical pain shoots though my body again, this time longer. “Failure to answer will also result in a shock. Do you understand?”  
As my body relaxes from the electric lash, I can smell burnt flesh. I can feel it knitting quickly. The smaller voice speaks again. “The shocks your receiving, are being delivered through your black carapace. There is no way to block it. An apothecary has disabled your Sus-an membrane as well, so you will be awake for everything. Now, do you understand?” Reluctantly I answer, “I understand.” They obviously know my physiology and have other Astartes on their side. This must be the Seventh’s heavy-handed security precautions but that wouldn’t explain the psyker.

“Who are you?” The other Astartes present askes. Where the psyker was cold, calm control this one was more like me. Barely restrained rage and conviction. My answer doesn’t come as quickly as he’d like and instead of using the pain engine hooked to my carapace an armored fist strikes me in the face. I feel bones creak and taste blood from a split lip, growling I strain at my restraints. “Whose man are you?” he asks again, using an older phrase.  
As my hearts calm slowly, I spit. “I am Crixus, Decanus, seventeenth company, Twelfth Legiones Astartes…” I am cut off by another blow to my face. “This scum is a World Eater!” As my head rocks back, I have a flash of recognition, I know that name. It’s the name those that wanted the nails embraced. “No!” I yell spitting a loose tooth to the deck. “I am a War Hound.” I hear the whine of servos as my current interrogator rears back to pummel me again. “Stop!” the smaller voice interjects. I hear his little boots on the deck as he walks nearer. “What year is it, War Hound?” After a moment of scanning my mind I can’t think, not because of the beating, I’ve taken worse in jest. My recollection is muddled. “I don’t know. The last date I can recall is…” Pain wracks my brain as I try and recall a time of solidity. Try as I might, I can’t drag a number to mind. “I don’t know…” There was silence as I felt that cold hand across my mind again. It made me want to retch. The Librarian tries to pry information form my mind and recoils from knowledge that shocks him. “I cannot gleam anything from him. He is not resisting me but… his memory is clouded and disjointed.” That calm voice said sounding confused. “I… I remember Ghenna. We were sent back there for investigate the planet. Its Imperial tithe had stopped.”

Instead of another hammer blow or the lacing arc of electricity I heard the smaller voice. “Out now.” His voice impatient, maybe the mention of Gheena sparked something in his mind. All three stepped from the room and the heavy door slid closed. Leaving me alone again.

In the solitary time I try to recall the events of my journey. Fleeing my fleet, my legion. I wasn’t fleeing. I was following orders. “Crixus the time is now, head to terra, warn the Emperor that our father is continuing this madness.” My Centurion had told me when the announcement had been made. Our apothecaries had finally unlocked the secrets of the nails. Our father was going to force all of us to mutilate our minds to be like him. I could almost see my Centurion’s face when I head the door slide open again obliterating my recollection as sure as a bolt shell.

I follow the sounds as they enter. I can only assume it’s the same three. The smaller voice speaks first. “Tell me, War Hound, “I sneer every time he says my Legion’s original title. He says it with such a mocking tone it makes me want to break him. “How did you come to be in the space hulk Charnel Spector?” I’ve never heard this term before. “I don’t know.” There is a pause my interrogators are likely talking on a closed vox.

“What ship were you on? What was your mission?” My inherited belligerence resurfaces, “I’m not revealing any information. I don’t know who you are for all I know you are the traitors.” This ignites the heavy handed one. I can feel his stomping advance, I smell the ozone stink of a power weapon activating. “Filth! How dare you question our loyalty?! Your whole legion turned on kin!” I clench my jaw prepared to have my head caved in, the power field on his weapon makes my skin prickle as he holds whatever it is next to my face. “Remove his blindfold.” The smaller one orders. I can feel the wielders reluctance to withdraw. He, I can understand.

  
As the cloth around my eyes is pulled away, I blink as my eyes adjust. They have a light aimed at my face, but my enhanced eyes can see past it. Looming in front of me is a hulking Astartes. His helm fashioned into a grinning skull of polished steel. In his left hand is a power weapon I’ve never seen. Like an arbites shock maul grown to grotesque size to fit the needs and abilities of an Astartes. The librarian stands in the far corner. Their armor is midnight black save for his legion badge that I don’t recognize. Their left arm and shoulder guard are gleaming silver covered in symbols alien to me.

“You are in the custody of His Holy Inquisition.” The smaller voice spoke as he walked forward, laying a hand on the marine next to me. His maul pulling away slowly. The human was dressed in combat fatigues, a holstered pistol on his hip as well as a sword. The jacket he wore had the same stylized I symbol as the Astartes. “A great many things have changed. You have been trapped in the wrap for some time, and time flows differently there.” He paces in front of me, hands clasped behind him. “We must know how you came to be here before we can go forward. What was your ship?”

This Inquisitor continues to pace and stops behind the console, his hand poised over the activation button. My mind races to think of its name. His impatience shows as he hits the button. Lances of electricity course though me again, every time it goes a little longer. When it stops, I hang slack in my bonds panting, the stink of burnt flesh more present than before. “What was your ships name War Hound?” Gulping air, I answer “Userra. Our geller field failed. The first to go was our navigator.” Remembering the moments in flashes I hear the alarms and then the terrible nightmare things that boarded our ship. I was snapped by from remembrance by the Inquisitor’s voice.

“What was your mission?” Still panting I lift my head. “My Centurion sent me to Terra, to warn the emperor.” I can see all of them stiffen at the mention of our Lord. The Inquisitor seemed as eager as an impatient child. “Warn him of what? Horus? Isstivan? What man what?” the two Astartes shared glances, it seemed as though they only understood part of the conversation. Before I could answer the current ran through me again. I cried out in mid convulsion “NOOO, the Nails! Angron’s nails!”

The current shut off and I felt residual tremors jerk my muscles. It was harder to breath and I could feel my secondary heart working to keep me conscious. They left me hanging and gasping for what felt like hours. Lifting my head, I saw them standing in a circle conversing privately. “My Centurion sent me to warn the Emperor that our father was forcing us to take the nails. He began to cull those of us that resisted when my squad and I jumped.”

Even mentioning my squad brought their faces to the fore of my mind. They were all long dead, all seven of them. Two when the geller field failed. The rest in our time trapped in that maze of nightmares. The psyker spoke up first. “Though I don’t know all of what he speaks, I sense no taint, I sense no deception.” He stepped close to me and ran a gauntlet over my newly shaven head. I sneered and meant to shake his hand off me but was held stiff. That cold feeling overtaking my mind.

It felt like a spike of ice impaled my mind as the librarian probed my thoughts. Like a holovid on fast forward he swam though my memories faster than I could recall them myself. He began to convulse, and a trickle of blood ran from his nostrils as the skull faced one pulled the librarian from me. It felt as though my head had been under water. Sweat poured from us both. “Cease! If you look too deep into a traitor’s heart it will taint you as well brother.” The Librarian composed himself and nodded at the skull faced warrior. Wiping his blood with a gauntleted hand, “If he were a traitor I would agree.” Silence followed his statement.

The three left me again, just as quickly and unceremoniously as before. Hanging, I tested my bonds. No doubt they were substantial. I began to wonder how many others like me had been interrogated. Testing my bonds again I had no doubt they were adamantine in construction. That or I was weaker than I had thought. Straining I could feel them creek and groan but ultimately it was futile. Soon enough though one returned.

The inquisitor came alone this time. He stepped in and stood before me; his hands clasped behind him. “The librarian believes you to still be loyal. The esteemed Chaplin wishes to break you and fire your body from an airlock.” He stood as if he expected a reply. After a moment he spoke again. I began to get the feeling he enjoyed the sound of his own voice. “I believe your years of service and experience are too valuable to be squandered so.” He began to pace. “As I said before, much has changed in the time you’ve been…gone, as it were.”

“Tell me what you want or let this…Chaplin in here to get this over with.” I didn’t care for verbal jousting as some of my cousins did. It was a bore, useless posturing. The man turned and sighed in annoyance. “The name you gave, Ghenna. It’s been almost a nine thousand years gone.” I kept my face like stone but inside my mind reeled and hearts raced. There was no way that was correct. He continued. “You were trapped in the warp for the most divisive and decisive moments in human history. Fully half the primarchs followed Horus in open rebellion against the Emperor.” A distortion of time I could grasp but this was too much. “You lie! There is no way!” he seemed pleased with himself that he could goad such a reaction out of me.

  
“Oh yes. Your World Eaters, The Sons of Horus, Thousand Sons, Iron Warriors, Emperors Children, Alpha Legion, Word Bearers, Night Lords and the Death Guard. All excomunicatus traitorus.” He beamed a smile as he could tell I was aghast. I knew warriors in all those legions. I had fought beside them, bled with them. I couldn’t fathom it; I could only hang my head and try to grasp. “Nearly ten thousand years ago Horus the arch traitor set the galaxy a flame and mortally wounded his father. They laid siege to Terra itself and your World Eaters were at the head of his charge. Now you begin to understand why we have reached an impasse with what to do with you.” He continued to pace obviously self-satisfied in bringing me low.

“Surely there were those loyal who refused to rebel. I can’t fathom my brothers turning to this. We were en-route to Terra to warn the Emperor.” As she stopped, he nodded. “Some, terribly few but some. It’s believed that those who remained loyal were sent to the Isstivan system and betrayed. Slaughtered to the man. Same say that Ferrus Manus was slew there.” The Gorgon? He fell? How…...? He stayed silent, letting that sour truth envelop me. Eventually I raised my head. “I am loyal, if all of this is true give me my armor and weapons. Let me go avenge my legion’s name.” He laughed; the bastard laughed. “We do not hunt the traitor here. We are not the Ordo Hereticus, be glad you weren’t found by them, you’d still be dancing to the electric lash. We who found you belong to the Ordo Xenos, and the only way you’re going to walk out of here is going to be as a ghost. I did not know if this was a threat or not, but He would find out sooner or later the folly of goading a War Hound.

The Inquisitor finally gave me his name. Lord Inquisitor Holt. A grandiose title for a self-important man. He stepped closer to me speaking softly, conspiratorially, smiling. “In all that time you were in the warp did you not hear the whispers? The beings in the warp promising you untold power? You know your brothers did. They succumbed to the eight-fold path; the nails drove them into the embrace of Khorn.” I had only a partial idea of what he spoke. I did hear voices in the warp at once begging me to join them and at the same time braying for my death and to feast on my soul. When he spoke of my brothers, I saw red, swinging my head I tried to headbutt him. He repulsed me instantly. “I will never be a slave to anyone or anything. Be it warp spawn or the butcher’s nails!” If I hadn’t known better, I would say he seemed disappointed. He entire demeanor changed. He wilted where he seemed so proud and self-important before. He stepped back and nodded slowly. “Good. I may have use for you yet then.” He words seemed hollow as he stepped towards the door.

“Come in.” He said into a vox bead I assume and through the door comes four Astartes. The Chaplin Leonas, The Librarian Nares, And two others. A tech-marine which I recognize as one of the Iron Hands and an Apothecary. “These men and I will decide your fate.” Turning to them he spoke again.” Anything concerning him,” he pointed backwards to me “Is to be considered the upmost of secrets. Anyone without Vermillion clearance asking questions is to be denied and detained. I will not tolerate knowledge of him leaking. Is that understood? “All four of them slammed a fist against their chest in a gesture the brought back fond memories. How I missed the feeling of brotherhood. He turned as they left. “We will consider your fate. You will be notified when the sentence is decided.”

A short time after they had left, I heard a series of clicks and felt myself falling. Landing on my hands and knees, my limbs feeling strange and weak from disuse. Standing I looked back at the contraption that had held me. I was an X shaped construct rooted to the floor. I could still feel something though. A pressure I thought was a part of my bonds. Running a hand over the base of my neck I felt a mechanical device still secured to me, right over the interface for my armor. “Insurance I guess.” I said to no one in particular. I paced around my cell to loosen my muscles and to examine this console. I was not surprised that the screen was blank and seemed to be powered down. Moving towards the door I closed my eyes and concentrated. I could hear the muffled drone of power armor beyond the door. My jailers no doubt, standing century at my door.

I could not accurately gauge time, so I have no idea how long I was held without contact. I filled my time with exercise. I was still mightier than any mortal, but I could feel that I was far from my peak. I did every exercise I could think of without equipment until I felt that continuing would push me into diminishing returns. Astartes can survive on extraordinarily little, and eat almost anything but recuperating from a sus-an coma and being held captive, immobile for an unknow time I needed something to replenish my body. Moving to the door I decide what could it hurt? So, I knock. Nothing. I didn’t honestly expect an answer, but my belligerence and boredom spurred me on. I balled my fist and punched the door knowing full well they would hear that. I felt a little pride as I saw a negative image of my knuckles in the metal of the door but still no answer. “Is it your custom to stave your captives?” I pause, “I suppose I’ll have to start pulling up deck plates and sustain myself on those.” It sounded absurd but I could do it and had before.

Squatting next to the door I smile to myself, flashes of my past coming to the fore. So vivid the memories come I forget where I am. For a moment I’m squatting in the practice cages on the Merciless. I could smell the reek of metal, blood, and sweat. I was watching one of my brothers, one of my squad Rexor fighting one from another chapter. “You keep playing with your food it’ll bite back!” We all were on opposite sites cheering our brothers on. Stripped to the waist Rexor and the other War Hound battered each other with wrapped fists. My squad, the Shield Breakers howling louder than the rest. Rexor was a stout and squat man. It was often joked he was as wide as he was tall.

With a feral snarl Rexor found a hidden well of energy, the blows had been traded equally for a time. Each fighter measuring and pacing themselves but Rexor gave into my legions anger sooner. He opened his guard and took a blow to the face that would have decapitated a lesser being, but this opened his opponent and he became a blur of punches. His fists fired as fast as a heavy bolter and hit nearly as hard. Wrapped slab like fists impacted the other Hound’s stomach, chest and face in such rapid sequence he was pushed back against the cage and could only try and curl himself into a ball to avoid the rain of fists. The breakers stood and howled again as the opponent’s squad stood and made for the cage’s door. Rexor finally backed away panting and growling. We were brutal, we were killers, but this wasn’t an honor duel and Rexor helped pick up his brother as his squad hauled him out.

I stood and moved to slap Rexor on the shoulder but as soon as I moved to touch him, I was jerked back to the present. Snarling I jumped away from the door. An errant sound, from the hall broke me from my memory. Frustration from hunger and from being torn from my reverie. Smiling I recall being on campaign with one of Russ’ wolves. Ogvai, Oki, Ohtere… their names blur. I can see his canine face but not recall his name. “Cousin! If they think you savages, let them believe so, until it is too late!” Growling I struck the door again. “Do you know what we did when supplies ran low on a field of battle?” I asked grinning knowing they could hear me. “We ate the enemy.” I laughed as I heard a loud knock and a subtly familiarly accented voice. “Be silent traitorous dog!” I laughed even louder hearing the disgust in my captor’s response. “Is that the regal tones of Caliban I hear?” I recall meeting a Dark angel or two, can’t remember where or when though. The other sounds strange I can’t place him.

“He’s good.” The strange marine said to his companion. “He is cause for a vermillion class restriction, brother.” His words had that haughty rebuking tone about it. “Oh, definitely one of Johnson’s Angels.” I snort. “Whose man, are you?” I direct it towards the stranger. Silence was my only answer. Growing in frustration harassing my guards was getting me no information. I moved to the computer console and examined it. Touching the keys only brought up a prompt for a gene code. I began pacing my cell again looking for weak points, randomly striking the walls and listening to the sound. I began to feel sluggish, maybe their suppression of my sus-an membrane also did something to my catalepsion node. I can’t recall the last time I slept. Leaning on the back wall I slowly slid down into a sitting position, my head drooping I fell into a sleep, in hindsight I wish I hadn’t.

The primary embarkation deck was silent. Legion serfs, arms men, and servitors moved about in the near darkness. Word had been passed down from Centurion Mago that his plot to destroy the nails was commencing. He ordered a squad from the 17th company, the Shield Breakers to be his failsafe. Captain Ehrien issued the order to the squads Decanus (sergeant) Crixus. Under protest Crixus obeyed and now his squad moved to commandeer a storm bird.

Speaking on closed vox channels it was Subotai the squad’s heavy gunner that spoke up fist. “Are you sure about this Decanus?” Moving cautiously in the shadows the squad was headed to a recently docked craft they would use to move to the Userra, an interceptor frigate undergoing repairs. “It was an order, and it’s for the best of the legion” Crixus barked back in nargrakali. He wasn’t used to his orders, or orders from a higher authority being questioned. The seven of his squad made it onto the storm bird easily, once in Crixus himself closed the boarding ramp. “If Ehrien fails we have to take word to Terra. We cannot let our father butcher our minds with those damned nails.” He turned to Subotai making sure his gunner understood the importance of their mission. Rexor, Corin, and Osric were searching and securing the storm bird’s cargo. As Throgrim slid into the co-pilots seat behind Akiro. Crixus was unsure why he was chosen to undertake this almost seditious mission. Was it because he was Terran and as such took a stand against the nails? It could be that or it could be simply that his squad was under strength and wouldn’t be missed.

The Dock’s flight master, a hard-wired mortal protested as the Storm bird’s engines spooled up. However, they paid no attention. Mortals quickly learned it wasn’t wise to argue with a world eater. Even though they made it off the conqueror they also knew the report would be sent. Speed was their ally. “Feels good Crixus. We haven’t stolen a flier in…. two battles?” Rexor chuckled and slapped his sergeant’s shoulder guard. They didn’t bother with seating; the gravity harnesses weren’t needed for such a quick trip. The Userra was a very light fast, ship the smallest to have a navigator in fact. It was incapable of using drop pods so the Astartes all but ignored it. This also meant there wouldn’t be any chance of any of their brothers standing in their way. “Akrio, Throgrim, with me. Rexor, Corin make sure the navigator is secure. Osric and Subotai guard the Storm bird.” All the of Astartes snapped unity salutes and moved to their tasks.

Crixus lead Akiro and Throgrim to the bridge. Moving through the halls they had to duck and squeeze though some of the hatches and doorways. This vessel was clearly not designed with an Astartes size in mind. Entering the Bridge, the crew visibly jumped when three of the world eaters entered. The Captain tuned on his heel and addressed Crixus. His markings making him stand out. The crossed chains icon wrapped around his left gauntlet and short red festoon marking him out as a Decanus, one that had taken the title by violence. The Captain, a human spoke. “Greetings Lords, I am Captain Jameison Levar, Is this an inspection?” The two other world eaters moved to the vox, and navigation controls just as a fleet wide transmission boomed out of the vox transmitters. “This is Chief Apothecary Gahlen Surlak! There has been a plot to damage critical advancements to the legion. All ships are to sweep for dissenters and all ships are ordered to stay on station. This order carry’s Angron’s authority! Failure to comply will be met with his wrath!”  
To his credit, Captain Levar wasn’t a slow man. He could tell the sudden appearance of Astartes on his ship had something to do with the transmission. He quickly unclasped his hands from behind his back and brought up a bolt pistol. In his hands it looked massive, but it was far smaller than the ones issued to Astartes. Firing a single shot, He struck Crixus right above his left eye. The towering veteran's head rocked back from the impact. A shocked silence descended on the bridge. The last thing the crew saw was Crixus’ scarred and smoking helm slowly turn and glare down at their captain, and the last thing they heard before the bridge was washed in blood was the sound of revving chain axes and growling Hounds of war.

Streams of blinding light streaked past the Userra as the ship powered towards the jump point. The ship rocked as the surviving bridge crew avoided the incoming fire from the perusing craft. The Userra had broken from the repair ships and slipped it moorings after Crixus and his men had subdued the crew. Most were too cowed to resist the orders of their World eating masters. Only the ship’s captain and executive officer resisted. And they met their end swiftly and brutally. “Status?!” Crixus said with a snarl, the whole ship jerking from an impact. “Hull breaches on decks ten through eighteen, reactor overheating” The veteran gripped the arms of the captain’s throne, his growl grating out of his helm. “All shield power to aft, all other systems power down, we MUST reach that jump point!”

Crixus was no ship’s captain. He’d only had a rudimentary understanding to fly a storm bird, but he knew enough. “Do whatever you have to, to keep us going!” the third in the ships command structure was given a field promotion by the veteran once the matter had been settled with the CO and XO. He had then ordered his squad to disperse thought the ship to guard vital systems and assist if able with damage control. “Nearing jump point my lord!” The voice of tertiary commander Houton, the defacto Captain. Bending a bracing bar as he fought to stay upright as the frigate rocked form another lace hit Crixus growled, “Set a course for Terra, as soon as we can make the jump. Preferably before were blasted into the void!”

To Houton and the crew’s credit the frigate dodged and rolled as if it were a fighter craft. Avoiding far more hits than they took. Sporadic reports came from his squad as the other decks were breached and subsequently abandon. Crixus bristled as he held on watching the view port and listening to the hurried shouts of the crew. Threatening them wouldn’t make things any better so he let them work. Soon though he heard the jump warning claxon and he saw a giant rift swirl open in front of the ship. In later time he’d swear it looked as though a great beast’s maw, eagerly opening to swallow them whole.

  
Inside the warp it was eerily quiet and calm. The warning lights still flashed and various alarms were still sounding but the shaking had stopped. Crixus released the bent bracing bar he had been holding. Seeing the outline of his grip in the metal where his gauntlet had had crushed it. Everyone looked about, the calm jarring to their senses. A stark contrast to the roiling maelstrom they were in just seconds ago. Emergency shutters had closed on the viewports as soon as the ship began to move into the warp. It was expressly forbidden for all but the navigators to peer into the immaterium. Everyone on the bridge, Astartes included looked out about as the realization that they had made it sank in. “Silence all alarms, full damage report as soon as possible.” Houton barked breaking the silence as he walked to stand before Crixus.

The Decanus was conversing with his squad via their helmet’s vox when the Astartes noticed the man standing near him. “What is it Captain?” His heavy bass voice asked with a hint of irritation. “Lord I…” Crixus cut him off harshly “I am no mans lord. If you need something speak plainly.” Houton swallowed but kept his composure. “…Decanus Crixus, I understand we are on route to Terra, but I would like to know why.” The veteran marine felt his fist clinching but took a second to consider that these people were not Astartes, they were not his kin and so needed special treatment as much as that ground on his temperament. “We are taking a message to Terra. That is all you need know.” Crixus turned to Throgrim believing the conversation ended. “Considering we have broken Angron’s order I believe were owed a better explanation, Sir.” Crixus felt his teeth grinding as he began to turn, however Throgrim Stepped to the side and placed a heavy hand on Houton’s shoulder. “Decanus Crixus has to check in with my brothers Captain. Why don’t you give me the damage report?” If there was ever a cool-headed World eater it would have been Throgrim. He gave his sergeant a nod as he dragged Houton out of range.

Crixus met the rest of his squad in the hanger deck, the lowest deck that had not been voided to space. He looked at the hanger doors, He’d swear he could smell the geller field. An acrid ozone like stench that was utterly unique. “Two in one day, that a new record!” Rexor bellowed as he kicked a crate of bolter shells down the storm bird’s ramp. The shield breakers had taken to inventorying the supplies from the craft. “I don’t think there was ever an Astartes contingent on this vessel.” Corin said as he strode over from the far side of the hanger. “Likely not, Hanger is too small, no drop pods…hardly our style.” Osric added. They all formed a circle with Crixus once he entered and stood. None of them knew what the next step would be. “The crew isn’t a custom us either brothers.” Crixus finally stated. The anger from Houton’s insistence ebbing away. “Steel yourselves brothers. We will need to work with these paper skins for a while. The mission is paramount. A warning must get to the Emperor.

  
Jolting awake I look to find myself still in my cell. My left hand was subconsciously rubbing the end of my triumph rope. The last two lengths of the scarred tradition brought to the legion from Nuceria by Angron were black. Dark scarred tissue signifying shame and defeat. I don’t know how long I was asleep. Sitting up I rub my scalp and realize there is a small package on the floor next to the door. Slowly I crawl towards it like a cautious animal. Inside was a pair of training fatigues, two ration cubes and a canteen of water. Sitting cross legged on the floor I examine the cloths as I hungry tear into the ration cubes. Utter tasteless and utilitarian there is no flavor, but as soon as it hits my tongue, I can feel my stomach growl as precious calories are delivered. I Hear a vox click and I scramble away from the door like a simian, holding what little belongings I now have.

The apothecary, Xathan from before stepped inside and stared at me for a few moments before he spoke. “I see the inquisitor allowed you the rations I suggested.” I Finish swallowing the first cube and squatted on the deck. Not looking away I rip the wrapper away from the second and push it whole into my mouth. Xathan sighed and continued. “I need to take you to the medicae and do an examination now that your awake. I looked you over when you were recovered but some tests require a conscious patient. I stare at him for a long moment, chewing loudly. “What keeps me from killing you right now?” I ask, my voice harsh and crumbs of ration tumbling from my face. He stares at me like I’m an exhibit, Like I’m a medical oddity for study. Though I admit I likely looked like a feral barbarian at the moment, squatting in the corner eating like a starving wretch. He seems to have more patience than the others until he held up his hands. “I’m here to help you brother.” His tone is sincere, and his gesture was meant to show some trust, but I can also see the a remote in his left hand, a remote that’s likely linked to the pain engine still clamped to my neck. “We’re cousins at best Raven Guard.”

“This part of my judgement I’m sure.” I say as I stand and begin dressing in the fatigues. I smirk as I realize I match him in height, un-armored. My grin interests him as he sees not all my teeth are original. Ones knocked from my head from various fights having been replaced with metallic substitutes. Upon dressing He tosses me a cloth mask. Catching it my brow arches. “What is this for?” He points to his cheek and I realize he’s indicating the tattoo of my legion’s emblem on my face. “To know of your mere existence necessitates a vermillion level clearance. We must conceal your identity for now.”

“If your inquisitor speaks the truth, does anyone even know what a War Hound is anymore? Is there anyone alive that would know of my legion? Does anyone even remember that there were legions?!, Do you?” I feel my fists clench, the thought of all my legions, and the others progress, our reconquering of the galaxy being erased due to Horus’ hubris makes my vision start to redden. Xathan’s face hardens, and I imagine he’s considering using the device. “Likely not.” Inquisitor Holt’s voice calls out as he stands in the doorway of my cell. My jailers, finally revealed to me are standing behind him, bolters held in a low ready stance. “The mask isn’t necessary.” My glare instinctively turns from the apothecary to the ones holding weapons. “I was right. A Dark Angel.” Seeing one of the Astartes wore the winged sword icon of the Lion’s legion.  
It was no surprise that I was escorted to the medicae. Holt and Xathan in front of me, The dark angel and the other behind me. “I can place all of them but you.” I say glancing over to the Astartes behind my right shoulder. Seeing a skull gripping a knife in its teeth opposite the silvered pauldron all of them seem to wear. “Do you ever stop trying to goad people?” Holt asked in an exasperated tone as we rounded a corner. “If you truly knew me and mine, you’d know that was a wasted question.” That seemed to amuse the Inquisitor. “And why is that? Are you just itching for a fight constantly?” We enter the medicae deck and it seems as though they have emptied the ward. No one was present save for me and my escort besides a couple of servitors. I answer Holt as Xanthan motions me to a waiting table and tells me to off the tunic I was given. “I’m Feeling a little cagey, being kept locked away and I don’t trust anyone I haven’t seen in a fight.”

Baring my upper half, I can feel their collective eyes scanning over my body. I was a patchwork of healed wounds, scars covered me thickly. All of them earned in battle save for my triumph rope. I’d like to say all none of them were on my back but that couldn’t be helped. “An interesting history is wrought in your skin alone.” Said a deep resonating voice. Chaplin Leonas. Though his plate appeared to be the same mark as the others his presence seems to dwarf them. His skull faced helm and red lenses seemed to bore into anything he laid eyes on. “If I am to be a part of his judgement, why was I not notified of this examination?” He spoke to Inquisitor Holt, ignoring everyone else. Any other mortal would be cowed to a jabbering mass by such an intense stare. “Must have slipped my mind.” Holt replied with that air of arrogance.

As I lay for the examination, blood was drawn, and I was hooked to various testing and monitoring equipment. At one-point Xathan moved my head from side to side. “Your progenoid hasn’t been taken I see.” Before I could respond Holt and the Chaplin moved closer. “We’ll need to extract that for testing.” Holt said with an unnerving smile. The Chaplin had a different idea entirely. “We should douse this traitor with radiation. Sterilize him, keep his seditious blood form being used elsewhere.” I knew my opinions on the matter wouldn’t matter so I kept silent. I had no brothers, no legion to bolster. What would I care what they do with my gene-seed?” I give Xathan a cold stare as he lifted his redactor to extract my legions legacy. I am ambivalent, what ever they do with my gene-seed I know it would ever be used for its designed purpose. As the Caplin and Holt argue I look to Xathan again as his gauntlet whirs and I feel a punching pain in my neck. It strikes me that I’ve felt a pain like this before.

Four of the original seven are left. Backing away slowly and precisely, their drilled minds on auto pilot. They’re acting of out muscle memory and deep ingrained training. As Thorgrim’s bolter run dry he rounded the corner into the astropath’s chamber. The central most point in the ship and possessing the thickest doors, Crixus had set this as the last fall back point in case of a defensive action. And this was most certainly the worst they had ever seen. The damage inflicted on the Urserra was far more extensive that had been originally assessed. A week into their voyage and the geller field generator had seized and the precious bubble that kept the tides of the sea of souls at bay fell. Almost immediately the navigator screamed a death cry that was heard though the ship. Osric saw him gouging out his third eye and writhing in horror through the tiny window built into his chamber door. Simultaneously boarding alarms sounded and the gun decks full of menials and legion serfs ceased communications.

That was only two terran standard days ago. Now only Crixus, Rexor, Subotai, and Throgrim survive. They have been fighting a running battle with never before seen things born of the warp and the reanimated dead of the crew. The next to run dry was Rexor. Ducking into the chamber he snatched the last magazine from his belt and slammed it home. Crixus was at the fore growling and slashing at a thing with a goat’s forelimbs and head, a long trailing snakes body filling the hallway. Subotai pumped heavy caliber shells into it relentlessly some hitting and the creature and having no effect, others seemed to not hit it at all despite his near perfect scores on the range. Their Decanus was a flurry of heavy slashes and beheading arches as he fought the monster so his men could withdraw. “Come ON Crixus!” Rexor yelled to be heard of the near constant shrieking of metal and monsters.

Subotai’s heavy bolter stuttered a final string of shells into the beast and went silent. The World Eater cut the strap keeping it at hip level and pulled the ammunition feed away with such force that the connecter shattered. Snatching up his bolt pistol he made to cover his Decanus. Crixus heard the change in gunfire and leaned for an opening the beast left. Bringing his chain ax down like a meteor strike lopping a leg off at the shoulder of the beast. Grinding chain teeth bit and chewed through its flesh, the mechanical chain throwing a tall rooster tail of blood and bone chips. “Have that you bastard!” as soon the blade was through Crixus ran for the door leaving the warp spawn to thrash and scram in the hall.

Inside the astopath’s chamber it was eerily quiet. The screaming of the warp, and the ship seemed muted after the heavy door slid down and locked into the deck. His three remaining men stared at Crixus. They all looked as though they had been in the field for weeks. Not just a measure of their exhaustion, they literally looked like the had been going for a month. All sported facial hair, red rimmed, bagged eyes and gaunt cheeks. “You’ve got red on you.” Rexor said breathing heavily, a hand raised pointing at the veteran. Crixus’ eyes looked down and indeed he was covered chin, to toe with the beast’s blood and gore. In that moment they shared a laugh. Heavy armored shoulder heaved as the stress and utter wrongness of the past few days ebbed ever so slightly. Just as Crixus was looking up to his brothers an impact akin to being punched by a titan hit the ship. Or rather their ship hit something, something in the warp.

Laying on the table Crixus had that absent, thousand-yard stare as Xathan extracted his gene-seed. An Astartes could withstand pain that would drive mortal men insane and into lethal shock. Holt and Chaplin Leonas were still in heated discussion when the alarm sounded. That familiar alarm Crixus had heard on the Userra. He could smell the ozoneish tinge in the air as the geller field collapsed. The combination of sound, scent, and pain made his eyes go wide. “It’s happening again!” Crixus roared as she sat up and pushed Xathan hard enough to stager him despite his armor.

‘Not here, not again’ I say to myself as I feel both my hearts begin to pump, my fight reflex kicking in. I can’t stay here; I can’t stay still. Just as I think of it, the boarding alarms sound. Four Astartes ready themselves and three aim weapons at me. “Stand fast marine.” Leonas says as his bolt pistol gapes wide at me. The Dark Angel and the other aim at me as well but it’s the skull faced helm that has my attention. “The geller is down, they are going to pour in here and kill everything if we don’t move.” The Chaplin glances at the Inquisitor. “Listen to me damn you! I survived in the warp for I don’t know how long. I fought those things and more for longer than you have been alive!” before Holt can answer me the vox bead in his ear starts going off and he puts a finger to it. “If you think for a second, we’re going to arm you, the warp has twisted your mind worse than I imagined.” He says plainly. I’ve instinctually backed my self in a corner. Just as the Inquisitor turns to address us the door to the medicae dents in as something monstrous slams into it. The Dark Angel and the other aim and back away. I get close to the one that wears the skull with a knife in its teeth. “Bolters won’t work.” I say as I look about and find a weapon.

All at once the door caves in and fly’s past, catching the Dark angel and knocking him from his feet. A monstrous thing of the warp pushes in to the medicae. Its grotesque body a kaleidoscope of different abhorrent forms. Leonas, Xathan and the other marine open fire. Bolter rounds punch into it, the destinations flaring under its almost translucent skin. I knew what these things were like, I knew how to kill them. Rushing forward I began to slash and hack at the beast with the proffered bone saw I found. Limbs and oozing pseudopods flew or dropped to the ground to dissolve into oily stains. Just as I attacked it, it turned it attention to me. I had to be faster, out of armor I couldn’t take the blows I could otherwise. Lances of pain shot over my arms as its tentacles cracked like whips. I was never going to win with a makeshift weapon like this. Thankfully Leonas realized, that gun fire was next to useless. With a roar of fury, that sang to my heart he charged in and smashed his power weapon into the side of the beast, and it howled in pain.

Falling back, I found the Dark Angel crushed beneath the door. With nothing else that could be done I took up his combat knife and looked for Holt. He was behind an up turned examination table watching. Just watching. “Are you going to do anything at all? Or should I feed you to it as a distraction?!” Seeing his inaction made my vison go red. I would not suffer a coward. He swallowed and tore his eyes away as he saw me and began frantically issuing orders though his coms. Leonas was battering the warp spawn back out of the medicae door as he roared litanies of hate and revulsion. It made me smile seeing that, after all these years Astartes were still as formidable and stalwart as I remembered. With all the news of treachery and deceit I was afraid the spine had gone out of my kin. I ran to the fight roaring as I slashed and stabbed at the monster. I easily fell into a pattern with the Chaplin, I cut, he smashed, His weapon tearing great rents in the things hide, I thrusted and hopped to hit something vital, but these things obeyed no laws of anatomy.

Pushing the warp thing from the medicae we heard another alarm. The droning artificial voice of a servitor, “Geller field re-stabilized. Initializing in three, two, one.” With an ear popping snap the protective bubble reformed around the ship cutting off the beast from the energies that birthed it. Amazingly it began to shrink and scream as if it were dissolving. Leonas and I doubled our efforts ripping and tearing it to shreds as it slowly died. The beasts form curled into a mass and slowly began to dissolve. It left a stinking pool of ichor where it died. Panting the Chaplin and I slowly looked to one another. Grinding my teeth, I braced for the fight I knew was coming. Surprisingly his power weapon deactivated with a snap of energy. “You fight well but make no mistake. Your loyalties are still not proven.”

What followed was months of learning and training at the hands of the Chaplin, regular sessions with both the Apothecary Xathan, and The Librarian Nares. Xathan testing my biology for signs of mutation and Nares plying my soul and mind for taint. The Raven Guard was expectedly dour and quiet. Through all my sessions with him I only recall piquing his interest once. Laying on the medicae slab as he typed and studied his screens, I heard him make a noise. “Hmmmm, this is interesting.” Turning my head, “What?” I had little patience with being poked and prodded so. It reminded me of Apothecary Surlak. The hands behind the nails. “It seems your, unique temperament is, intentional.” A growling chuckle rasps out, “Just as HE made me.” Furious typing echoed in the empty medicae. “So, it would seem.” Xathan stood and spun a screen towards me and pointed at a model what I assume was my brain. “Besides your higher than standard adrenal response, you have reduced serotonin receptors, an abnormal amygdala and augmented angular gyrus.” He taps his chin as he stares at the screen fascinated.

Laying there, how ever interesting it may be to some, my anatomical interests only strayed into how best to kill my enemy. “Are you going to explain any of that, in plain speech?” Standing, he moved the screen and began unhooking me from his equipment. “None of those, peculiarities correspond to standard Astartes augmentation.” Sitting up I glare at him again. “I’m a warrior sawbones, little words.” “Apologies, put simply, your legion was engineered to be angry.” He nodded, coldly staring at me. Standing up I smile as I rub the shaven stubble of my head. “And here I thought I was unique.” Letting the light play over my scarred, brutal face, metal replacement teeth glinting.

I grew to like Leonas. Though my lessons often came to an argument. How the galaxy had changed in my absence was astounding. Strayed so far from the imperial truth I knew. In the wake of Horus, the Emperor was now revered by all of mankind as the god emperor. When I enlightened the esteemed Chaplin that I knew for certain that He not only denied it but that he had personally censured the Word Bearers for just that I thought he might strike me dead. This led to our first of many sparing matches.

After I had told Leonas of Monarchia and that Lorgar was the mind behind the Lactitio Davinitatus he struck me. “Blasphemer! Not only do you speak the name of the expunged, you dare to attribute a divine work to him!” he said towering over me. Blood seeping from my nose, down over my lips. Licking my own blood, I snarled as I stood and looked him face to face. “I have come to you for months now and you tell me all that I have known has been turned on its head. You tell me that the Imperial truth died on Isstivan III. You tell me my whole legion has been excommunicated… Even that concept smacks of the religious dogma I know the Emperor tried to expunge.”

My anger growing into a red-hot furnace “I have listened to all of this, all of this from A Chaplin, a position invented by Lorgar himself. I tell you, you wearing the trappings of an office created by a traitor, preaching at me of how things are and calling me out for telling the truth, the truth that has been obscured by ten thousand years. You strike me and call in to question my honor.” Before I realized it, I had squared my stance to his, fists balled and teeth grinding. His stony eyes locked onto mine. “I was born on Terra, I was made by his hand, directly. I brought worlds to heel for him, and you dare to tell me what is false. If you call me a liar, one, more, time. So, help me I will rip your arms off and beat you with them! I have killed for less…”

A snarky laugh and clapping interrupted our ‘spirited’ discussion. Leonas glanced at Inquisitor Holt as he walked into the ships chapel. “As interesting as that would be to see, I can’t allow that.” Behind the Inquisitor four marines stepped in. no doubt to break us up. The Chaplin surprised me with his next words. “With Respect Inquisitor, this is an Astartes matter of honor and this is MY reclusiam.” Holt came to a stop and cocked his head like an animal considering a strange command. “Indeed, it is Chaplin, and this is MY ship, in which your reclusiam resides.” Glancing at the marines that Holt had brought I could see the subtle shift, the confusion as they pondered where their allegiances would fall.

There was a pregnant silence in the Chapel for some time as the standoff of sorts continued. Neither of the three parties backing down. Holt was the first to break it with a sigh. “Since you are claiming the wound to your honor, how would you settle this, War Hound?” again I get the sense of sick amusement form the inquisitor. My eyes flicker from him back to Leonas, never taking my eyes off a potential enemy for long. “My legion settled its disputes in the sparing pits and practice cages.” That last statement making a smile snake over my face. My hearts quicken at the thought of breaking this deluded fool. Holt’s eyes widen as he considers it. “And you Leonas? Do you agree to these terms?” Without missing a beat, the Chaplin answers “Aye! Trial by combat” The inquisitor nods and turns on his heel. “Alright then. A duel of honor it is.” He says as he strides out, his cohort following in close lock step.

Oh, how I missed the practice cages on the Conqueror. The smell of blood, sweat, and metal. Watching my brothers fight machines or each other. How we cheered our companions and settled disagreements. Even before the coming of Angron the cages were a cornerstone of my legion. After all, how could you know a man, or call someone brother unless you saw them fight? I was escorted to the practice area directly from the reclusiam. Leonas headed off to his private armorium It was smaller and cleaner than I was accustom to, but its form had not changed much. It would seem word had traveled as there were several other Astartes waiting. Some had clearly been exercising or practicing but a fair amount were still fully armored. My escort, the Steel Gorgan stepped aside to be with brothers he knew.

I walked to the edge of the cage and waited as was my custom. Feeling eyes on me I recall when I took the rank of Decanus…Two fully armored warriors circled each other. Chain axes roaring almost as loud as the gathered Astartes watching the fight. “You think you know better than me whelp!?” the warrior in the older pattern armor lunged and swung his chain ax in a horizontal attack meant to disembowel. The warrior in the newer MK IV armor jumped back, a thin line of bare ceramite was left where the teeth just kissed the plate coving his belly. “You lead us to slaughter!” the younger War Hound bellowed as his own ax came down in crashing arc aimed at his sergeant’s shoulder.

Decanus Hekaron the sergeant of Shield Breakers had just returned from the surface of Cerberus. He hadn’t made it three steps from the storm bird’s ramp when a younger Astartes called him out and challenged him for his rank. Crixus had been in the assault on the penial colony and due to Hekaron’s brutal and thoughtless command his squad had been nearly killed to a man.

The younger War Hound rolled to avoid another strike and came up to a crouch slashing his motorized ax bit into Hekaron’s knee joint causing the veteran to roar and swing wild. “You knew what was down their you bastard! You fed us into it!” The sergeants reply was an unintelligible snarl Crixus rode a blow to his chin that would have decapitated a mortal. Rocking back from the uppercut he spat blood and a tooth. Charging back in ax blade locked to ax blade as an ear-piercing shrill screech filled the halls. Leaning close Hekaron smiled. “Is the pup afraid to die?” Crixus struggled to keep his footing the elder marine was monstrously powerful. “Never!! But I won’t sell my brothers live so cheaply.” The younger Astartes punctuated his oath by butting his head against Hekaron’s face. Gene-enhanced bone against gene-enhanced, the sound like a gunshot. Hekaron stumbled back dragging his ax along Crixus’ chest plate. The younger acted on pure instinct and hurled his own weapon at his sergeant. While the ax twisted end of end though air towards its target Crixus launched himself at his foe. Hitting just a second after the ax skidded off Hakaron’s shoulder guard the younger warrior bore him done to the ground and began pummeling him. Ceramite encased fists hammered down on Hekaron like artillery fire. Crixus couldn’t hear anything. The beating of his twin hearts drowned out the yells and chants of his brothers. He could feel the impacts of his fists against Hekaron’s face, felt the bone begin to crack and break all he could see was his brothers being cut down like wheat by a monster in armor covered in lightning bolts.

I snapped back from my memory as the gathered observers grew quiet. Leonas arrived on deck and I was impressed the respect he commanded even put of his imposing armor. Without the skull face helm Leonas was a gaunt figure. If ever an Astartes gene bulked as we were could be called thin. His skin was a pale pallor of one who rarely took off his armor. Wearing a floor length robe over his training britches. A marine wearing the same symbol on his armor as Leonas, a Maltese or knights cross. Took his robe. He stepped to me; a bit taller but I outweighed him. “Terms of victory?” He asked as the gathered Astartes fell silent. Not backing down I matched his gaze. “I’ll let you pick, Chaplin. My traditions are likely too much for you, in this more civilized time.” I am no poet but I’m sure that barb will sting his pride. “I can handle anything you could possibly offer, Traitor.” Blunter, but none the less effective. “To the death it is then.”

“There will be no butchery today.” A powerful voice called out, every marine on deck save for me, saluted and took a knee. Watch Captain Orris strode into the hall, his helmet held in the crook of his left arm. “There are precious few of us as it is.” He stopped in front of Leonas and I. Captain Orris eyes me. “I assume you are the one we, recovered.” I slam my fist to my chest giving him the old pre-unity salute and begin to identify myself. “Captain I am…” He stops me with a raised hand and speaks softly. “I know who you are.” He leans in conspiratorially “Not all in attendance have the proper clearance.” We share an understanding as he steps back. “This duel of Honor shall go until unconsciousness, or capitulation.” He says in a commanding voice. Stepping back towards the entrance. I catch a glimpse of a ghost, or rather something that reminds me of a ghost. A figure in pure black armor. Not like the Chaplin’s. Pure black, unadorned wearing no Sigle save for the silver arm and badge of the Death watch. As soon as I saw him, he was gone.

“I shall officiate this duel. This is my ship and when I call a cease it will be obeyed.” Captain Orris continued. The Chaplin and I nod in agreement. “Weapons?” Leonas asks, looking at me then Orris. The Captain looks to me. I was the one issuing the challenge, so it was Leonas’ decision. “None, let this be settled hand to hand.” It didn’t matter to me. I knew I had killed with more weapons than He’d ever seen before. Orris nodded and the cages door was opened. We stepped in and faced each other. Leonas was throwing punches and limbering up he was focusing, getting himself ready. It made me smile, rolling my arms to loosen my shoulders we waited. “The Honor duel between Chaplin Leonas of the Black Templars and our, guest now commences.”

Given the order Leonas dropped into a boxer’s stance. But as soon as Orris last syllable left his lips I was charging. With a growl of wrath, I dropped my shoulder and slammed into the taller Astartes knocking him back against the cage. Rapid punches slammed into his gut as I felt his back hit the wall. I was going to show this welp how the hounds fought. Unrelenting furious assault. As the steel rocked, He gained his senses and hammed elbows into my shoulders and head. I kept his knees from rising into my chin but one of his elbows landed well and made me see stars for a moment. Sliding back, he blocked my upper cut and in turn I blocked the right cross he sent towards my temple. “Savage” he said as he pushed off the cage It seemed I lit a fire in him. Going on the offensive he kicked and landed a blow to my thigh momentarily making me drop to a knee. As I went down his fist met my chin and I rocked back. I felt like a bolt shell impacting my helmet. When I tasted blood, I could feel my rage growing.

Instead of backing away I rolled forward landing a heel kick to his stomach. Shooting forward I swept his legs and before he could recover, I was on top of him. Like a wrestler of old terra, I sat above him raining blows, punishing him for every opening I found. He managed a few punches of his own, I rode them and kept up. My fists hammed down like pistons. With agility rarely seen in our gene bulked existence he managed to knee and kick me until I felt my kidneys bruise. My moment of pain allowed him to hook his legs and snatch me down into a choke. Feeling my throat close and eyes bulge I began hammering fists into his sides. The fused ribcage of an Astartes didn’t give like a mortal. His grip held my anger grew. Pushing I got my knees under me and despite my vision getting hazy I grunted and lifted. Still wrapped around me I lifted him up and dove forward his weight and mine landing on his back. I felt and heard the wind knocked from him. Rage fueling me I lifted again, slamming him down his grip slipped. Taking my chance, I wrapped his arms and began to headbutt him. Growling as I did, our skulls met over and over. The loud clap of bone on bone. His arms weakened and I let his left go and added my fist to the onslaught, blow after blown rained into the Black Templar, in hindsight after the third punch I had rendered him unconscious, but I didn’t stop. I roared and kept hammering him until armored arms drug me off him.

I was taken back to my cell after that fight. I was later told that I had bellowed a roar as I kept hitting him. Orris had called the match when he saw the Chaplin’s head loll, but the cage door and the shock of my brutality left me nearly a minute more of savagery before I was forcefully pulled away. “Savage, Barbarian,” “He fights like a green skin” I heard all to familiar things said as I was led away by bolter wielding jailers. I had heard all those and worse before. I didn’t care. The Emperor himself called us his hounds of war. We were the ones called upon when the enemy need to be savaged, decimated, Killed to a man. We were his wrath made manifest.

I was kept in my cell for a few cycles as best as I could guess. My body healing quickly. I wondered how Leonas was fairing. I wasn’t kept guessing for long. When my door opened, I was met by the Chaplin, Captain Orris and the one in black. They had the bearing of an execution squad. I Stood and prepared myself for another fight. Leonas stepped forward and instead of his crozius, he offered his hand. “Your honor preserved. You fight like a brigand, but you fight well.” I looked at his offered hand for a moment before taking it. Clasped wrist to wrist, the warrior’s way. “Your fury and skill give me hope for these distant cousins.” The captain spoke up as we shook. “We have made our judgement Crixus, Decanus of the War Hounds.”

What I thought was a threat turned out not as literal and I had guessed. I was led to the reclusium. When we entered the hall was emptied of all the serfs and other marines I had seen before. We strode into the farthest alcove. As we moved, I admired the rows and rows of armor, weapons, trophies and mementoes these Death watch had acquired over the centuries. When we reached the secluded vault, I was introduced to Brother Sergeant Zaeron. He told me of the shattered legions and of the scattered, still loyal Astartes and a tradition they started, and this Death Watch had perpetuated.

A Black Shield. As I was told, were born in the aftermath of the Drop site massacre those still loyal but branded traitor by association scrubbed all allegiance to their former legions. They painted their armor a uniform black and swore loyalty to each other and the Emperor only. They continued to wage war on behalf of the Emperium both as penance, and vengeance. These first black shields evolved into the tradition the Death watch observe now.

I was given the choice. I would be locked away forever likely to die by the inquisition’s hand or take the oath of the Black shield. I would be sworn to secrecy never to reveal my past. No one save the Astartes that had already known me, and Holt would know. I would be judged purely on my actions alone. “Death, eternal captivity or slavery.” I said, looking to all three present. “A way for you to continue to fight for the Emperor.” Zaeron said. “Would you rather die than serve Him? All this professing your loyalty, to the point of challenging me, and you now consider giving up?” Leonas said exasperatedly. Captain Orris commented as well. “I have been told of the world eaters’ legendary stubbornness, but you must see. This is the only option.” A flash of red crosses my vision as I look to Orris. “I am a world eater no more “I said passionately. “I am a War Hound no more either… I agree.” I said solemnly. What choice did I have? Oblivion or a partial chance to still be useful and prove I was loyal.

“You remember the Oath of moment brother? Zaeron said. Even thought his helmet I could hear the smile on his face. The mention of our, now ancient tradition making me wonder at to the man’s origin “Of course I do” I say as I take a knee. “I Brother Sergeant, Black shield of the Deathwatch will take your oath.” Drawing a large two-handed power sword from his back he placed it tip down. “Place your hand on this blade and swear. Swear that you will leave your past behind, leave all former allegiances and swear to serve The Emperor of mankind!” Orris and Leonas stayed silent and watched as I placed my right hand on the blade. “I Crixus Formally of the World Eaters legion, forsake my legion, forsake my primarch. I serve only the Emperor and his will.” Zearon Lifted the sword and in a most ancient custom touched my shoulders with its tip. “With this oath you must also leave your name behind. Rise Black shield, be born a new and take your fight to the enemies of man.” Zaeron concluded and nodded to the Captain and Chaplin respectively. “You are a ghost of your former self, but you carry all your experience and knowledge with you. Let your war never end, Brother.” Leonas stated. Laying a hand on my shoulder.

It felt strange giving on oath of moment. It felt like it had been an age but in reality, it had been ten thousand years. As I walked to my new quarters, I wondered how long it had been since one had been made. When I was led past the normal squad bays and barracks, I became aware that I was being given special quarters. I wasn’t sure it if was because of my secretive status or if someone, Holt or Leonas and petitioned for it. I was given a private room not unlike a junior officer’s quarters. It had a bed, desk, and more importantly a small in built armorium. I was told that my gene code had been entered into the ships data and that only the chosen few would have access to my room. Upon entering I could imagine why. Stepping inside I looked about and found it as spartan as I’d expect. Moving to the armorium the wall slid open and on a rack was my suit of MKIV plate. Dented, pierced, gouged and all. In fact, it still bore the wounds from the hulk. What I been told is called the Charnel Spector.

The next step in keeping with my oath was to scrub the livery of my old legion from my plate. I stood for a long while looking at it. The bone white and blue. The short festoon that marked my former rank of Decanus, the crossed chains icon on my left vambrace for my victory over Hekaron. It would need to be repaired but I had to disguise it first. Picking up my helmet first I detached the festoon and set it aside. They could force me to cover my history, but they couldn’t force me to abandon it. I sent for a servitor to retrieve an appropriate paint. I would cover my former legions colors. I would not obliterate it. I even felt a bit of joy finding old dents, and gouges remembering when and where I earned them. Hefting my chest plate however brought an all to vivid memory to mind.

The lone marine ran and dodged he was the last. All his brothers had died weeks mor months ago. He had been in a near non-top cycle of ambush, counter ambush, furious combat and falling back to flank. On this cursed hellscape of a wreck he faced the green skin, monstrous bug like things that sprung from every vent, shapeshifting things that mimicked his dead brothers and countless horrors of the warp. He could feel his sanity slip with every battle. The chronometer in his helmet read fantastically different times and dates every second. After the first day he ceased checking it. With all those foes he always felt the worst was yet to come. As if some masterminding entity was watching him fight. He called to it, goaded it, cursed it but all it would ever do is laugh and watch.

Crixus rounded a corner and stepped into a large hanger deck he’d never seen before. Empty save for a craft whose wrecked form he couldn’t identify. The forcefields keeping the deck closed to the void, well it would if the livid bruised flesh like warp wasn’t swirling beyond it. Still guttering forming and breaking at random intervals. What mesmerized him was the silence. Ever since crashing into this hulk there had been nonstop sound. Whether it was the foes he faced or the screaming, or the warp whispers he had not known true silence as long as he could recall. “Show yourself watcher.” He called out. Knowing there was nowhere he could go that he didn’t feel those eyes on him. “Come out and fight, lets be done with this.” He said growling with frustration.

“Are you so eager to die?” a voice called out from everywhere and nowhere. “Do you not fear death?” Crixus hurled a chunk of deck plating at the forcefield, it flickered off just in time for the piece to go spinning into the warp void. “I am an Astartes! I am the Emperor’s hound of war! I know no fear!” A booming laugh shook the ship causing Crixus to almost loose footing. “So stalwart, so trusting. You know he forsakes you. The madness machine beaten into Angron’s head, beaten into your legion. It damns you all.” Crixus ignores the random target ridicules that spring up on his display. “I have no nails, and my brothers will refuse. I will get word to Terra.” The lone marine is in a perpetual combat stance. Hunched and ready. His chain axe in one hand and his bolt pistol in the other. Only four rounds remain. “You are the last. Those who refused were decimated. Two thirds of your brothers happily took the murder machines into their brains. You have so much faith in your emperor. How can you? You know what he will do.” Crixus dove for the floor as the ceiling of the hanger deck was pealed away. It was like a Titan was opening a ration tin. A lone figure stood opposite him.

The towering figure was in a perpetual shadow even though there was no light above it. “The Emperor will fix this!” the figure’s form flowed like water and before his eyes Angron, his father towered over him. Rage maddened eyes, blood seeping from his nose, he was just as he’d seen him when they returned from Gheena. Brazentooth was revving as he spoke. “Paper skin whelp!” The Angron thing slammed the monstrous chain axe into the deck opening a rent large enough for a scout bike to be swallowed. “My father, ahhhhhhhh you worship him, you saw what he did to me! He is False! He is no better than the high riders!!” Crixus rolled to avoid the massive blade. This thing was mimicking his father in vision but not in skill. Crixus had no doubt if he faced Angron he would be ripped to shreds of meat. “You are false warp spawn; you cannot scare me. Show me who you really are!” The Astartes rolled to a stand and loosed one bolt into the Angron thing’s face and it disappeared into cloud of smoke.

He watched each corner, turning slowly scanning waiting. He began to hear boot steps. Out of the darkness his brothers walked. One by one Rexor, Subotai, Throgrim, Osric, Akiro, and Corin came to stand before him. They were just as he’d last seen them. Broken, bloodied, missing limbs, organs exposed. “You led us to ruin. As sure as you accused Hekaron.” Just as the name was spoken the former Decanus joined the ghostly gathering. His speech came in gurgling rasps as he spoke from his broken face, the face Crixus had pounded into meat with his fists and fury. “You unworthy mutt. You were never a true son of the red sands.” Facing such accusation Crixus fell to his knees feeling a weight on him. “I did what was right! Everything I did was for the Emperor and his vision!”

The being spoke again, as it did the visages of his past turned to dust and blew away on a breeze that wasn’t there. The voice spoke in tone that Crixus didn’t at first recognize. “You don’t think he’ll discard you?” the voice asked as something large began walking towards him. At least as big as the Angron apparition. “If you survive this place, if you aren’t torn a sunder by these beings the Emperor lied to you about, you will already be obsolete.” The voice stepped forward into the unreal light. Tall impossibly muscular arms a heavy and thick breast plate shone with lightning bolts and eagles. The helmet fashioned with goggles but no face plate. “No…. It can’t be….” Crixus was stuck motionless. He looked up into the hulking face of one of the Emperor’s forgotten champions. “We too were made in his image. We were used until a newer model was found, and we were slaughtered for our payment. He will do it again.

The Astartes was almost to shocked to move when the giant warrior swung his weapon, a massive Kanabo. A spiked bat of ancient design easily as tall as he was. It swung and an arc in front of the warrior, Crixus having to throw himself to the deck. “We reclaimed terra for him!” the warrior bellowed as he wound up for another swing. Just like on Cerberus He would have to get in close, deny the unity era giant the reach his weapon gave him. Crixus charged He was no match for the Thunder the only way he killed it before was with his brothers. “And when you are no longer useful, he’ll send his new soldiers to finish you off, just as he did us!” The lone marine slashed at the giant’s knee making him howl but wasn’t fast enough to escape. He was ceased by the arm, tossed like a child into the bulkhead, had his back mounted power back not been there he surly would have broken his back. Landing in a heap Crixus cough up blood. Grabbing his axe, he pushed himself up just as that massive weapon knocked him into the wreckage of the craft.

A spar of metal finding a gap in his right arm joint. The beam sticking him to the ground like a pinned insect. “I was doing his bidding! You refused to surrender!” The thunder warrior towered over Crixus shaking his head as if a pupil had answered wrong. “Would you surrender?” “Never!!” Crixus felt his rage build, pushing himself up he felt the metal sliding from his flesh as he fired his bolt pistol. The three remaining rounds hit their mark. Hitting the thunder warrior in the visored helmet, he stumbled back the helmet coming loose and falling to the deck. Summoning all his strength the War Hound charged and slammed into the giant’s leg feeling the knee join bend the wrong way. Another howl of pain split the air as it fell back. Crixus knew to hesitate was to die, this warrior or the simulacrum there of was so much a threat. Scrabbling up the massive chest he looked like a child wrestling with a parent. He looked down on its face as she held his ax high for the killing stroke. The warrior looked up and did nothing to guard. “They’ll say the same thing when its your turn to be phased out. They will be following orders as well.” Crixus brought the ax down.

In the same instant His chain axe bit into the thing wearing the visage of a thunder warrior there was an ear-splitting clap, a popping of air pressure as the warp vomited out the Charnel Spector. Cut off from the sea of souls the demon thing withered and turned to dust. Crixus, last loyal War Hound collapsed on the deck. His harsh ragged breath filled his helmet. His visor showing him a kaleidoscope of warnings. Multiple bones were grinding together with every breath. His arms and legs were slow to move and protested. The last thing he saw before he slipped into the death like sleep of a sus-an coma were stars. Whether it was fate or random happenstance, what saved him was twofold. The hulk had been spat out into real space and had been noticed by long range augers of the imperial navy. Also, the systems still active on that chunk of the ragged amalgamation of ships that made up the hulk stuttered to life, sealing the deck he was on from the void. There he lay, only to be found nearly ten thousand years and a day since he’d left his fleet to warn the Emperor.

I found myself still holding my chest plate. The dents and ragged edges of ceramite just as the demon thing had left me. I set that aside and picked up what was left of my body glove. It was stiff and crackled from the dried blood soaked into it. The ragged hole where that spar of metal had impaled me. I would keep it, but it was beyond useless. Tech marines were in short supply within my legion. Few of us had the patience for machines. So, we became adept at patching our own armor. It was ad hock for sure, and many times we earned scorn and dismay from the mecanicum cohorts we fought alongside and received equipment from. I took my time though, the same servitor fetched me tools and material for three days straight as I patched my armor. It would take the hand of a tech marine or mecanicum adept to be battel ready again, but I did what I could. After three days It was a fit as I was able to make it. I had painted over my former colors and taken off all the markings and insignia that couldn’t be painted over. I deposited those in a small footlocker, thankfully gene coded to me alone.

Besides my armor my most prized possession was my chain axe. Mortals place Astartes so high in esteem they believe us beyond material want. Though it was true that were bred only for war and out of pragmatism we thought most things as trivial, but we weren’t so divorced from our humanity. Hefting my ax, a smile snaked across my face. Feeling the urge, I stood and swung it in practiced arcs. Feeling its weight limbering my stiff joints and muscle memory snapping back. I began to laugh as it felt like it melded to my hand and we were one. In my long solitary war in the hulk I had named it, Occior Rex. Killer king, or King killer depending on the dialect of gothic you used. My reverie ended however when out of reflex I hit the throttle trigger. I expected its double rows of teeth whirr and roar to life as it once did but silence and my ragged breathing were the only noises in my room.

I collected my bolt pistol as well. I was proficient in its use but never took to it. Like my legion brothers I relished hand to hand combat more than anything else. It seemed to be in good order. I cleaned, oiled, and checked it for function. I summoned the servitor again. It had been helpful, but the dull grey skin of hits head sickened me. The oil and spoiled meat smell of it making me want to back hand it every time it came to my door. It had procured a repulsor sled as I had ordered, and I loaded my armor onto it. Mighty as an Astartes strength was caring a dead suit or armor was a chore. Rolling ahead of my it led me to the armory. I was told an Iron Hands named Morgan would be able to restore anything I had.

Entering the armory deck, I growled as two auto cannons swiveled and aimed at me. Letting the rolling servitor pass unmolested. A Deeply augmented voice called through vox speakers. “Identification.” It droned. My gene code had been added to the ships data cluster but had yet to have a name attached to it. “Identification” He said again. I could hear the auto loaders whine and begin shoving shells into the breaches. “I’m a ghost.” At that a small green screen light, up as an armored face looked at me. “No crew named ghost recognized. Who are you?” This voice had all the same artificial sounds but spoke in a more human cadence. I Looked into the screen. “I am a black shield; I have no name.”  
The grainy image of the marine stared, and the screen winked out. The auto guns turned away and powered down as a think door slid open. I watched the open door, my instincts telling me to throw a grenade it int before I entered. Reluctantly I pushed my sled inside and was assaulted by the smell of burnt metal and lubricants. Sparks flew and chips of metal piled high under the machines working on their own. In the back near a white-hot pit was the marine I’d seen on the screen. His servo harness made him fill the space a terminator would. “You must me Morgan” the figure turned, and I heard the low purr of servos. As he looked at me, his lenses clicked and I got the sense he was scanning me with device, if not a few. “Aye. I am He.”

Morgan spoke little as we shifted my armor to a worktable. He stopped and examined each piece he touched. “An ancient pattern. It will be and challenge to resort it.” His tone was just a hair away from the servitor’s drone. The mecandenrites sprouting from his back lifted my shoulder guards up and examined them. Looking to me for a moment, and I felt a tingle of recognition. Did his mechanical eyes see some shred of my former allegiance? He turned away and set them aside. “You must be a warrior of great esteem to be granted a suit this old.” He mechanical voice rasped. “As I said, I’m a ghost.” He said no more until he picked up my axe. Even with the coat of black paint the deep gouged name I etched into his casing was visible. He spent more time on it than anything else. Turning it over and examining it closely. His mechanical tentacles holding it before him. “A wrathful ghost, it would seem.” He said still looking at my weapon.

Hefting my power pack onto the table I looked at him. “What gives you that idea?” He set the axe down and his appendages began unscrewing the casing and taking it apart without him even looking. “That is an old and…crude weapon.” He seemed to pause thinking the most appropriate word. He must have seen my sneer because he clarified. “I do not mean it is a simple thing. It is a weapon of a forgotten age. Brutal is a better descriptor.” I felt my jaw relax and I began to understand his stilted speech. “I can’t argue that, but it has served me well and I’d very much like it restored.” Morgan stomped over to a large rack of what had to be parts and began looking through them in a slow, methodical manner. “I can do it. I will do it. It will be a welcome Challenge.

I will contact you again when it is functional…” He looked over his heavy shoulder guard, the Iron gauntlet gleaming in the forge light. “… Am I to call you ghost?” I stopped and thought for a moment. “Wrathe, you can call me Wrathe.” He straightened like an automated servo arm looking at me for a moment. “I do not understand. WRATHE is an ancient spelling of Wrath. Why do you not use the modern spelling and save confusion?” I shrug my shoulder before turning and leaving the Iron Hand to his work. “You could say we are from the same time.”


End file.
